The Sound of Silence

The Hills may be Alive with The Sound of Music, but not in Vermont, where Werner von Trapp spent the last part of his life.

Werner, born just before Christmas i 1915, died on October 11. The Times honored him with an obituary.

Here in the society, we are slightly uncertain of what to think about his living legacy, his four grandchildren carrying on the torch as The von Trapp Children ...

Women & men, as seen by Gilbert

"Every woman has to find out that her husband is a selfish beast, because every man is a selfish beast by the standard of a woman. [...] Every man has to find out that his wife is cross – that is to say, sensitive to the point of madness: for every woman is mad by the masculine standard."
G.K. Chesterton

Once I was a real Turtle

`Once,' said the Mock Turtle at last, with a deep sigh, `I was a real Turtle.'

These words were followed by a very long silence, broken only by an occasional exclamation of `Hjckrrh!' from the Gryphon, and the constant heavy sobbing of the Mock Turtle. Alice was very nearly getting up and saying, `Thank you, sir, for your interesting story,' but she could not help thinking there must be more to come, so she sat still and said nothing.

`When we were little,' the Mock Turtle went on at last, more calmly, though still sobbing a little now and then, `we went to school in the sea. The master was an old Turtle – we used to call him Tortoise –'

`Why did you call him Tortoise, if he wasn't one?' Alice asked.

`We called him Tortoise because he taught us,' said the Mock Turtle angrily: `really you are very dull!'

Sympathy with The Lower Classes

One morning the girl was very thoughtful, and answered at random, and did not seem to Toad to be paying proper attention to his witty sayings and sparkling comments.

`Toad,' she said presently, `just listen, please. I have an aunt who is a washerwoman.'

`There, there,' said Toad, graciously and affably, `never mind; think no more about it. I have several aunts who ought to be washerwomen.'

The bats of Lacock Abbey

You may find this surprising, but here at The Batty Society we have this thing for ... bats. And even though we will deny all charges, we do have a slight gothic strain. This video at The Guardian thus has touched our hearts deeply. And out they come flying from the gargoyles mouth!

Alas, alas

It is election time in Norway and for some reason these words by the giant (in more ways than one) G.K. Chesterton springs to mind. Wrong country, but still ...

Elegy in a Country Churchyard
The men that worked for England
They have their graves at home:
And birds and bees of England
About the cross can roam.

But they that fought for England,
Following a falling star,
Alas, alas for England
They have their graves afar.

And they that rule in England,
In stately conclave met,
Alas, alas for England
They have no graves as yet.

The title is, of course, a reference to Thomas Grays Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard.

Autumn Leaves

Autumn Leaves is possibly Deerstalkers favorite painting by John Everett Millais. The beauty of the young girls is set in contrast to the dying leaves. Youth, Millais tells us, is a passing thing. At best it can hope to grow old and die. It is a fundamentally pagan picture.

The painting is said to be inspired by at visit to Tennyson i 1854 and by his poem The Princess, from which the following lines are taken:

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean.
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,
And thinking on the days that are no more.

There remains, though, the riddle of the eldest girls left hand. Why does it look like a demon claw? Millais was as close to a photographer as a painter can get, so there is no doubt that it is intended to look like that. But why?

Pyramid of skulls

A friend of Deerstalker has a human skull standing in his bookshelf. A skull he found in the rubbish of one of Norway's largest hospitals. Deerstalkers envy is almost limitless. Even so, he is not going to start searching hospital bins.

His good friend The Dodo, being extinct, loves running around, showing people pictures of skulls and cry "Memento Mori!" It is, obviously, correct.

Cezanne's skulls, probably painted in 1901, is proof that Deerstalker's and The Dodo's interests are not only bizarre. They are, in their morbid way, beautiful too.

The case of the missing deerstalker

To tell the truth, Deerstalker does not actually own a deerstalker. There are several reasons for this, not the least the fact that the ones he has tried on did not suit him well at all. And after all, the man who will for all times be associated with the deerstalker, never, as far as we know, wore one.

He is, of course, the King of detectives, Sherlock Holmes; known to the world thanks to his good friend John H. Watson's tales of his adventures. The drawing above is by the foremost of Holmes-illustrators, Sidney Paget. It is an illustration to Watson's story "Silver Blaze", and the reason for the misunderstanding of Holmes and the deerstalker.

In the story, Watson writes: "And so it happened that an hour or so later I found myself in the corner of a first-class carriage flying along en route for Exeter, while Sherlock Holmes, with his sharp, eager face framed in his ear-flapped traveling-cap, dipped rapidly into the bundle of fresh papers which he had procured at Paddington."

Paget interpreted "ear-flapped traveling-cap" as a deerstalker, and thereby a pop cultural icon was burned onto our collective retina.

Alice and father William

Every fan of Lewis Carroll knows Alice’s recitation of "You are Old, Father William". It is a wonderful read, but one does get the feeling that Alice isn’t entirely successful. After all, Alice says so herself:

'That is not said right,' said the Caterpillar.

'Not quite right, I'm afraid,' said Alice, timidly; 'some of the words have got altered.'

'It is wrong from beginning to end,' said the Caterpillar decidedly, and there was silence for some minutes.

But what, exactly, is Alice meant to recite? A poem called "The Old Man's Comforts and How He Gained Them", by none less than a Poet Laureate, Robert Southey (1774-1843).

Underneath is Southeys poem, followed by the lines preceding Alice’s recitation and then her the poem according to Alice. It might not be correct, but we do not think many will disagree with our opinion that it is way better, and a lot more fun, than the original.

The Old Man's Comforts and How He Gained Them
"You are old, father William," the young man cried,
"The few locks which are left you are grey;
You are hale, father William, a hearty old man;
Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"In the days of my youth," father William replied,
"I remember'd that youth would fly fast,
And abus'd not my health and my vigour at first,
That I never might need them at last."

"You are old, father William," the young man cried,
"And pleasures with youth pass away.
And yet you lament not the days that are gone;
Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"In the days of my youth," father William replied,
"I rememberd that youth could not last;
I thought of the future, whatever I did,
That I never might grieve for the past."

"You are old, father William," the young man cried,
"And life must be hast'ning away;
You are cheerful and love to converse upon death;
Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"I am cheerful, young man," father William replied,
"Let the cause thy attention engage;
In the days of my youth I remember'd my God!
And He hath not forgotten my age."

***

Alice
For some minutes it puffed away without speaking, but at last it unfolded its arms, took the hookah out of its mouth again, and said, 'So you think you're changed, do you?''

I'm afraid I am, sir,' said Alice; 'I can't remember things as I used – and I don't keep the same size for ten minutes together!''

Can't remember what things?' said the Caterpillar.

'Well, I've tried to say "How doth the little busy bee," but it all came different!' Alice replied in a very melancholy voice.

'Repeat, "You are old, Father William,"' said the Caterpillar.

Alice folded her hands, and began: –

'You are old, Father William,' the young man said,
'And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head –
Do you think, at your age, it is right?'

'In my youth,' Father William replied to his son,
'I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again.'

'You are old,' said the youth, 'as I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door –
Pray, what is the reason of that?'

'In my youth,' said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
'I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment – one shilling the box –
Allow me to sell you a couple?'

'You are old,' said the youth, 'and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak –
Pray how did you manage to do it?'

'In my youth,' said his father, 'I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life.'

'You are old,' said the youth, 'one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose –
What made you so awfully clever?'

'I have answered three questions, and that is enough,
'Said his father; 'don't give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I'll kick you down stairs!'

Is that a bug in your bunny?

Is Bugs Bunny Jewish? The question seems to be of the utmost importance, considering the fact that rabbits hardly are kosher. A certain David Kauffman does, though, present strong arguments for his jewishness.

But what really convinced us here at the society, is this comment to a comment:

"Six whiskers. Six fingers. Six toes. Ears that look a lot like horns. Hmmm. Rev 13:2 – ‘And the beast which I saw was like unto a leopard, and his feet were as the feet of a bear, and his mouth as the mouth of a lion....’ The conclusion seems inevitable: Bugs Bunny is the Pope."

A very batty welcome

We hereby wish you welcome to The Batty Society.

In the dreadful sea of conformity that is modern society, we wish to be a beacon of eccentricity, a haven of honest silliness.

There is no hope of stopping the wild ride of the juggernaut of modernity, but that is no excuse not to keep up appearances or to fight (in a polite way) for the values of the true gentleman. The fact that it is hopeless is no excuse.

We hope you will drop by from time to time, to catch a glimpse of the world as it never was (and hopefully never will be), but, in a way, ought once to have been. Perhaps.

We can at least promise you lots of badgers, bats and dodos. And the occasional cup of tea.